


The Winchester Coffee House

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak, the young professor, finds himself in a small rundown coffee shop. He's not too fond of it, and then he sees Dean Winchester. Suddenly, family-run coffee shops don't seem so bad.</p>
<p>(This was written for the "Destiel Advent Calender", hence the wintery sense of it, but it's okay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winchester Coffee House

Castiel walks cautiously into the quiet coffee shop, the scent of pure coffee beans greeting his nostrils. The warm air in the shop is a comfort when compared to the freezing winter wind outside. He takes a few steps inside, glancing around. There are green and brown posters splayed across the wall on his right, which is painted with a delicate forest green swirly patterning. A sparse few people are milling around, some stood around tall tables and talking, some sat in the booths, sipping at mugs of coffee.

 

He had never been one for small independent coffee shops, preferring to go for the larger Starbucks that were around. However, this shop seems to be warm and welcoming, its atmosphere gentle and soothing. There is a soft melody playing in the shop, thrumming out through the speakers in the corners of the shop. His gaze links with a small boy's, who is sat with a woman in one of the booths, staring at Castiel. He smiles, brown eyes wide, and waves slightly at him, and Castiel waves back.

 

Castiel sighs happily, and he advances towards the counter, where there is a glass container filled with rows upon rows of chocolate cookies and various types of muffins. As he examines the menu board behind the counter, there is a flash of movement near the door to his left, and someone comes bursting through it, trying to carry several heavy-looking sacks of coffee beans.

 

"Do you need a hand with those?" Castiel asks innocently, peering at the tensed arms which support the sacks.

 

"Nah, I'm good," a gruff voice answers, shifting the sacks around in his grip, "But it'd be just awesome if you could move those mugs."

 

The sacks tilt towards a selection of white, brown and black mugs on the counter. Castiel leans over the counter, and drags the mugs to the side, leaving space for the sacks to be placed. A grunt is emitted from the man, and he stumbles over to the counter, dropping the sacks. Castiel follows his movements, then looks up at the man.

 

He swears for a moment that his heart stops. The man before him is wearing a lopsided grin, the corners of his vivid green eyes scrunched up. His defined face, the gentle smattering of stubble, the mussed up brown hair. _This man does not belong in a coffee shop_ , Castiel thinks to himself, _he belongs in a modelling campaign_. His name tag reads _Dean Winchester, Owner_ , and Castiel smiles.

 

"Do you own this place?" Castiel asks, gesturing around him.

 

"Yup, read the name tag," Dean smirks at Castiel, eyes gleaming, "So, what can I getcha, handsome?"

 

Castiel blushes at the compliment, feeling his cheeks bloom with heat. He is lost for words for a moment, but then his mind clicks back into place. The large white menu board is somewhat unclear, but he finds the familiar phrase _Caramel frappuchino_.

 

"One caramel frappuchino, please. Easy on the cream," he states politely, smiling softly at Dean.

 

"Coming right up."

 

Dean wanders over to a machine, and fiddles around with the controls until he looks satisfied. Castiel watches eagerly. Dean turns back to him, smiling, and picks up a pale brown coffee cup from the counter. He returns to his machine, and presses a large green button. The machine whirls and buzzes, and Dean places the cup under a nozzle. A honey coloured liquid shoots out, followed by a spurt of milk, steam floating around the cup's rim in a physics defying ring.

 

Dean picks up the cup once the machine is finished, and wanders over to a station where a hose-type device lies. He picks it up, squeezing a lever, and Castiel watches in awe as pure white whipped cream flows out with a soft _pffffft_ noise. Dean then picks up a bottle, pouring golden melted caramel onto the whipped cream.

 

Dean brings the cup over to Castiel, balancing it in his hand carefully, and produces a saucer out of nowhere. He hands the cup to Castiel, who places it lightly on the counter with a murmured _thank you_. The till rings as Dean prods at a few buttons.

 

"One dollar ninety five," Dean says quietly, beaming at Castiel, "And if you're gonna come back again, you can start a tab."

 

"I intend to come back," Castiel flashes a smile at Dean, "But I disagree with the idea behind tabs," he digs the required money out of his pocket, and hands it to Dean.

 

"Thanks."

 

Castiel's eyes roam over Dean's face once more, and then he picks up his caramel frappuchino, and retreats to a quiet corner of the coffee shop. The green seat is soft and plushy, the table sparkling clean. Castiel tugs his book out of his satchel, The Return of Sherlock Holmes, and reopens to his page, pulling the bookmark out.

 

As he reads and drinks, he feels eyes on him the whole time.

 

*

 

Castiel wakes with a jolt, his mouth dry, eyes aching. The book he was asleep on is open, a patch of dried drool on the page. He grumbles to himself, closing the book with a snap. He stands, tucking the chair away, realising with an ice cold jolt of shock that it is ten o'clock. Castiel has never been late for work before, and he shrugs. There is no point going into work now.

 

He wanders over to where his cell rests, picking it up and dialling the university's number. At least he has no lectures to give today. The main desk picks up, and he puts on his best sick voice, "Hello? Yes, this is," he coughs lightly, "Professor Novak, and I'm afraid I am unable to c-" another cough, "come in to work today. I will return tomorrow.... yes, thank you."

 

He puts the cell down, and wanders downstairs. His collie dog, Bela, waddles through the door, her fat stomach wobbling as she ambles over to him. _Just one more week_ , Castiel thinks, _one more week and then this pregnancy is over_. Bela had become increasingly morbid and lethargic since her five-pup pregnancy passed its sixth week, and now, bordering on the ninth week, she was struggling to move properly.

 

Castiel kneels and presses a light kiss to her soft muzzle, stroking along her spine gently. Her tail begins to wag, and Castiel grins, tickling behind her ears. He stands, and goes to open the back door for Bela. She waddles outside, swaying from side to side slightly.

 

Walking through to the kitchen, he opens the refrigerator, pulling out a cold glass jar of blueberry jelly. He places it on the counter and opens the bread bin, pulling two slices of bread out. Castiel constructs the sandwich, humming odd snippets of a cheery tune. He realises with a pleasant jolt that he is humming the tune from Dean's coffee shop.

 

He grins widely, his heart lifting with joy as the tune dances through his mind, lighting all sorts of happiness inside of him. Picking up the sandwich, he walks back through to the lounge, throwing himself down onto the plush couch. He bites into the gooey sandwich, his tongue tingling as the soft purple jelly spills over his taste buds. A groan is torn from his throat.

 

Even as the sandwich forces itself down his throat in the oh so familiar, melting sensation, he finds himself longing for the sweet taste of caramel. Finds himself wanting to feel the hot liquid of a frappuchino spread over his tongue with the scent of sweet coffee and cream filling the air. He inhales, and he can almost smell the delicate aroma of raw coffee beans.

 

He finishes his sandwich, smiling, and goes to let Bela in. She ambles into the house and immediately goes to lie in her new bed, snuffles puffing out of her nose as she settles. Castiel wanders back up to his bedroom, still humming the familiar tune. He tugs off his checkered pyjamas, and replaces them with a pair of worn jeans, an ancient leather belt, and a deep blue, woolly turtleneck sweater. He tugs on his winter boots.

 

Castiel gathers a small amount of money into his pocket, his cell phone and keys in the other. He absently pulls on a pair of fingerless black gloves, and walks back downstairs. Locking the door behind him, he leaves the house, breathing in the cold air with a sigh of happiness. He begins to walk towards the town centre, kicking his boots on the icy ground.

 

He loves winter. He really does. Winter is the season of Christmas, of his brother's birthday, of snow and frost and ice. Every year without fail, on Gabriel's birthday, a thick layer of snow falls upon the town like a fluffy white blanket, smothering everyone and everything with cold air and frosty mornings. Most adults his age hate winter, hate the snow which blocks up the roads. But Castiel doesn't mind. At all. He doesn't mind walking to work. He doesn't mind the long trek required to get to the shops. He doesn't mind the stress that winter puts on the rest of the world.

 

He loves winter.

 

As he approaches the centre of the chilly, near-empty town, the strong aroma of coffee fills the air around him, mixing with that one smell that always hovers around when snow is coming. He follows the smell and sees that Dean's coffee shop is open, pale green sign hanging above the flaking door with a few small icicles protruding from the bottom of it.

 

Without realising it, he finds himself walking across the road towards the shop, already humming the tune which he knows is playing softly inside the inviting warmth of _The Winchester Coffee House_. He opens the door, the bell above it letting out a soft ting. He is suddenly engulfed in a heat so immense in comparison to the chilled air outside, he takes a moment to breathe.

 

He tugs the gloves from his hands, relishing in the tingling sensations jumping across his chilled skin. His fingers are pale, shaking, but the warmth filling his lungs seems to be spreading to his extremities, heating them up. Even his toes are twitching with the comforting heat leaking through his boots.

 

A shiver runs through him as his body adjusts, and then his eyes skirt over to the counter where Dean Winchester is sat. His green eyes are shining with some unknown emotion, fingers tapping out an unknown tune as he stares straight at Castiel. Castiel shakes his head softly, linking eyes with Dean.

 

"Hey, again!" Dean calls across the completely deserted coffee shop, "Didn't expect to see you here again today. Dontcha have work?"

 

"I did. But I woke up late, so I called in sick. I have never done so before, so the university shall not mind. And I have no lectures today, either."

 

"You're a professor? At the university?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Awesome. So that's professor...?" Dean tilts his head slightly towards Castiel, one eyebrow raised.

 

"Castiel. Castiel Novak."

 

Dean seems to consider this for a moment as Castiel walks towards the counter, a slight smile curving across his face, "So, do they call you Cas?"

 

"No." Castiel frowns, confused.

 

"Well, I'm gonna call you Cas."

 

"I would prefer it if you-"

 

"Nah, shut up, Cas. I'm gonna call you that."

 

"Okay."

 

A thick silence engulfs the two men, blue and green eyes darting around nervously. Castiel just takes in the delicious scent of cinnamon and coffee, breathing heavily. His gaze grazes over Dean's face, drifting over the define features which make up his rugged complexion, before streaking over the rest of him. He is wearing a worn gray shirt which curves around the bulge of his muscles, and Castiel can just about see the waistline of a pair of weathered, deep blue jeans.

 

"So, d'you actually want anything? Or didja just drop in here 'cause you were bored? It's not a game store, dumbass. Or, in your case, a library. God, you're worse than Sam. He's always hovering around that damn library. 'S not good for the kid." Dean blurts out in one long rush, barely pausing for breath.

 

"I..." Castiel pauses, eyes darting up to the menu board. What was the point of even looking? He'd never ordered anything different for the past ten years, "Could I have a caramel frappuchino? The same as yesterday, please."

 

"Easy on the cream?"

 

"Easy on the cream." Castiel beams, delighted that Dean remembered.

 

"Do you want a caramel muffin to go with that?" Dean asks over his shoulder as he turns to begin making the frappuchino, "Half price for you, handsome." he says, quieter than his first statement. Castiel can't help but notice the blatant flirt, as much as he would prefer not to. He has never been a good flirt, and Dean is going to be no exception.

 

"No, thank you, uh, handsome," Castiel mumbles, unsure, "I am not one for sweet things. That would be my brother."

 

"Older or younger?" Dean asks absently as he squirts cream onto Castiel's drink, seemingly ignorant of Castiel's flirt, "Your brother, I mean."

 

"Older."

 

"Man, you're lucky. Younger brothers are annoying as hell. Always getting in your way, playing jokes, getting high off sugar."

 

"My brother does that, too. He does not act his age at all, despite his being twenty nine."

 

"Huh. So, how old're you, Cas?"

 

"Twenty five."

 

"And you're a university lecturer? Man, well done." Dean comments, bringing Castiel's frappuchino over to him carefully in one hand, a steaming mug of what appears to be tea in the other.

 

"Thank you. It's been a long seven years. Tea, really?"

 

"Oh, god, I hate coffee. Can't stand the stuff."

 

Castiel just stares at Dean, eyes wide, "You hate coffee, yet you open a business in making coffee? Ah, thank you." Castiel takes the cup from Dean.

 

"I didn't open it, it was my-" Dean's face visibly tightens, gaze falling to the floor. Castiel sees his vivid eyes glisten with unshed tears, "It was my dad's. And my mom's. They... they passed away."

 

"Oh, Dean," Castiel murmurs, a hand reaching over the counter to lightly squeeze Dean's shoulder. Dean leans into the touch, "What happened?"

 

"Well, uh-" Dean inhales sharply and deeply, bringing his saddened gaze up to look at Castiel's face, "My mom died when I was four. My brother, Sammy, was about six months. He was in his nursery, and my mom had left the candle lit in the corner of the room. The candle was this thing that my dad gave to my mom on their first wedding anniversary. She'd only burn it for a minute or two every night, then she'd put it out. She'd left it burning, and it caught the curtains on fire. It spread really quick, my dad smelt the smoke, dragged Sammy and me outta the house. Tried to go back for my mom, but... the room was like a furnace, she was stuck in a corner. He tried to run, just before the room exploded. The blast caught him, too, and he... Sammy and me, we were looked after by our uncle, Bobby. He's... always been there for us."

 

Castiel was silent, his thumb rubbing soft circles into Dean's shoulder, "Oh, Dean."

 

Dean's damp eyes blink hard twice, and he sniffs, "Hell, I dunno why I'm telling you all this. I only met you yesterday. Sorry to be a burden."

 

"You are not a burden."

 

A silence fills the small shop, and Castiel removes his hand from Dean's shoulder. He lifts his cup and takes a sip. Dean mimics him.

 

"Do you like the snow?" Dean asks quietly, his eyes fixed on the window.

 

"I do. Do you?"

 

"Love it."

 

Castiel takes another sip of his drink, then is struck with an idea, "Dean," he states, excitement filling his body, "I know what will cheer you up!"

 

*

 

Castiel crouches behind the green-turned-white foliage, eyes narrowed as he looks around the park. His gloved hands are clenched tightly around a well-packed snowball, just begging to be thrown. He catches a glimpse of a dark colour amongst the thick white trees opposite him, and he leaps out from his hiding place, snowball raised. A shrill war cry is torn from his throat as he runs towards the dark colour.

 

He skids around on the icy floor as he runs, earning glares from passing mothers with their children, but he ignores them. He pulls back his arm, and launches the heavy snowball at the dark object. A satisfying _thwack_ tells Castiel that the snowball met its mark. Carefully, he advances on the dark colour, gathering up snow from the ground, crouched. He creates another snowball, and is about to launch it at the darkness when he notices something.

 

It is not Dean. It is Dean's _jacket_ , slung across a white bush expertly.

 

"Gotcha."

 

Castiel whirls on the spot, adrenaline pumping through him as a freezing cold clump of snow smacks him in the face. He howls, wiping the icy powder from his face. Dean cracks a sharp grin, before turning on his heel and running away from Castiel.

 

Without hesitation, Castiel speeds after Dean, launching the snowball in his hands at Dean's back. A small noise of discomfort bursts from Dean, which quickly turns into spurts of laughter. Castiel races after the chortling man, determined to throw him to the ground. He catches up as Dean slows, and pounces.

 

Castiel smashes heavily into Dean, sending them both tumbling to the snowy ground, laughing. He somehow ends up performing a backwards roll as he struggles with Dean, flicking snow into his face whenever clumps of it finds their way into his hands. Dean is quickly creating snowballs in his hands, smushing them into Castiel's face and down his jacket cheerfully. Castiel retaliates, grabbing a handful of snow. He clambers atop the squirming Dean, straddles him tightly,and shoves the snow down his shirt.

 

Dean freezes, shoulders tugging back as he grabs at his chest, laughing, "Hah," Castiel says triumphantly, his hands curling around Dean's shoulders, pinning the grinning Dean to the ground, "I win!" he whispers into Dean's face, just inches away from those beautiful green eyes. Dean stops squirming, gazing up at Castiel.

 

Castiel cocks his head slightly. Dean looks so beautiful like this. Flushed, hair damp and mussed. Without thinking, Castiel lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to the lips of the man he has only just met. A sigh of relief slips from Dean's mouth as they meet, cold and damp. There is nothing more, just a gentle touch of lips.

 

Castiel pulls away. He knows this is wrong. He can't just go around kissing coffee shop owners - men he just met - however attractive and funny and perfect they are. He rolls off of Dean, falling onto the frozen ground with an air of finality. His lips feel colder, now, missing the warmth of another man's touch.

 

"I am sorry," Castiel blurts out as he states at the graying sky, "I wasn't thinking. Endorphins. Adrenaline! Just a mistake."

 

"A mistake..." Dean murmurs from next to Castiel, tone monotonous.

 

"I mean, it was good! Of course it was! But I... I cannot allow myself to..."

 

"It's fine."

 

Silence rings through the cold air, as the two men lay side by side on the icy ground. Castiel wises he hadn't said anything. Wishes he'd just kissed Dean until their lips were red, until their bodies ached with want. He sighs, closing his eyes. Briefly, he hears the rustle of snow, and when he opens his eyes, at last, he sees the hunched, retreating back of Dean. Castiel, panicking, clambers up off of the ground, slipping on the ice.

 

He races after Dean for the second time that day, trenchcoat flapping behind him. His hand falls onto Dean's shoulder with a _flumpf_.

 

"Dean."

 

"Don't."

 

"Dean, plea-"

 

"I said, don't."

 

"But-"

 

"Goddamit, Cas," Dean snarls as he whirls around, "I said, don't! If you don't _want_ to kiss me, you don't _have_ to! I only fucking met you yesterday! Oh, you walking in all blue-eyed and with your posh talking! People like _me_ ," he points to himself, "Don't even come close to deserving people like _you_!" with that final, resounding syllable, he slams his hand into Castiel's chest, hard.

 

"Dean-"

 

"I've lost everyone, and now my freaking brother is gonna wander off with some librarian asshole, and I'm gonna be alone! If I'm gonna _settle down_ it's gonna be with someone who's not a stubborn asshole like you who's got a stick up their ass! If you _want_ to kiss someone, if you _want_ to be with someone, if you just plain old want to _shag someone_ , then just fucking do it!"

 

Castiel stares at the ground as Dean vents at him, anger and testosterone bursting through the rash tones of his voice. As his fuming wears off, he watches, heart sinking, as Dean turns on his heel and storms away.

 

Castiel doesn't follow him.

 


End file.
